I have walked these grounds before but never that far.
The young raven was surprisingly good at flying and his parents had no issue to let me close by.
It was a pleasing moment where tenderness and grace materialized in the blue reflection of the inked feathers.
Somewhere in this lost world between 2 feelings.
This is the place… I’ll be waiting.
Where the flowing movement of the writing hand is matching the music of the waves on the rock below.
Where innocence dispatches to the blinds poetry through these words on the slated wall, carved and painted.
Where sounds make me dance and air is moist and pure.
Where the floor is covered by gold and rust and the flesh is only mineral.
I’ll be waiting
In the tunnel of lush and lust overlapping the stone walls on each side.
Where fires were ignited under the shadow of the moon and fear spread in the guilty ones.
This is the place…
Where I’ll be waiting to touch your hand.
My feet never could reach the ground and even if you need an anchor, I can only offer you the wings of the black bird that shapes the future. But it can help you extracting freely all the gems within your own soil. All this wealth you are meant to offer to others but first to yourself.
Regrets is only for what has already passed. Regrets are sour friends grinding on your treasure.
The corridors of time have many exits and winding path towards the ocean. An obvious opening is sometimes covered by invisible cobwebs, but none are strong enough to stop you. Rocks are eroding under our feet and the storm may always come back, but in this moment where the ravens are dancing,
I’ll be waiting for you.